


Through the Bars

by guineapiggie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post - Red Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4721237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineapiggie/pseuds/guineapiggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The whole dungeon had a faint stench to it, the walls were a little damp and mouldy and the bars in front of the cells were rusty, but at least they’d given him a cell with a window.<br/>(They’d done that so he could see the river, of course, to torment him. Her father did not care whether or not Lord Edmure would rot in the darkness.)<br/>The light was so bright she could not see his face even as she drew closer to the bars. Roslin swallowed and came to a halt less than a foot from the barred entrance. <br/>“Mylord?” she said softly, too softy. She bit her lip and furiously wiped at her cheeks again, but to no avail. The tears wouldn’t stop coming."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Bars

 

“Just because you _may_ be with child doesn’t mean you can’t bloody walk a little faster, girl,” he growled and nudged her forward. She could see how he had to restrain himself not to actually shove her down the long dark passage. No doubt her father had given orders that she was not to be harmed.

_Only in case I’m with child, of course. So nothing happens to the babe._

She nodded shakily and forced herself to hurry her steps even though she felt as if she was wading through a river, against the current. Roslin feared what awaited her at the end of the gloomy corridor – not the _man_ whom her family had thrown into one of those dirty cells, but his blue eyes.

They had been so full of disgust, fury and pain the last time she’d seen them, when they had dragged her newly-made lord husband down to the dungeons.

The whole marriage had been to avenge her family’s scorned honour and to get her with an heir to Riverrun, she had never been meant to care for him at all. But when she’d seen his dear face, that relieved smile spreading on his lips, she’d felt a pang of unimaginable guilt; and then when he’d been so _kind_ to her, so gentle and so very little like she’d expected him to be –

Then she’d caught herself wishing this wedding was just what it appeared to be, that she would truly become his wife, that he’d take her to Riverrun and one day she would watch their children play in that grand castle she’d heard so much about.

She regretted the part she’d been forced to play in all the slaughter terribly, but clearly he had not believed that when she’d told him, or maybe he simply hadn’t cared. Roslin could hardly blame him.

“And _gods,_ girl, will you finally stop crying, you are hurting my ears,” Black Walder snarled. He always called her _girl._ She was his great-great-aunt really, but certainly some twenty years his junior, and he was not the kind of man she should have liked to criticise, so she said nothing.

She _tried_ to stop crying, but she had been trying that for almost a week and had never really succeeded.

They turned the corner and she saw a dark silhouette against the daylight streaming through the tiny window into the cell. Abruptly, she stopped walking, staring fearfully ahead.

“What now, girl?” Black Walder’s voice was full of irritation and Roslin saw his hand twitch as if he was about to hit her. “You asked to see him, didn’t you? On you go.”

“Yes, yes,” she stammered, rubbing at her wet cheeks, then added softly: “My thanks, I’ll find the way back on my own.”

He threw her a wry smile. “Your father fears you’ll help him escape. I’ll wait.”

She cast her eyes down – of all the people, she didn’t want _him_ to listen in on this. It was awful enough as it was, and humiliating, too. She didn’t want him to hear.

“Alright,” she breathed, turned and slowly continued down the corridor, silently praying Black Walder would at least wait where he was.

(She had prayed that Lord Edmure would at least try to forgive her for what she’d done, but now that seemed foolish to her, a child’s hope. How could he forgive _this_?)

The whole dungeon had a faint stench to it, the walls were a little damp and mouldy and the bars in front of the cells were rusty, but at least they’d given him a cell with a window.

(They’d done that so he could see the river, of course, to torment him. Her father did not care whether or not Lord Edmure would rot in the darkness.)

The light was so bright she could not see his face even as she drew closer to the bars. Roslin swallowed and came to a halt less than a foot from the barred entrance.

“Mylord?” she said softly, too softy. She bit her lip and furiously wiped at her cheeks again, but to no avail. The tears wouldn’t stop coming.

“Mylord?”

“Good morrow,” he finally said, his voice a little hoarse and impossible to read.

“Are you… are you well?” she asked faintly, realising even as she spoke how incredibly stupid a question it was, but she did not know what else to say. So she added lamely: “Aren’t you cold, there’s a draft-“

“I don’t think I’m in a position to demand better quarters, my lady,” he answered. Maybe it was because she wished to hear that, but his voice sounded mild to her, not angry.

“I have...,” she cast a look over her shoulder at Black Walder and lowered her voice even more, “…here.” With shaking fingers, she untied the small bundle hidden in her skirts and stuck her hand through the bars, holding it out to him. “It’s not much, but they would have known I didn’t take it for myself if I’d taken more-“

He stepped forward and placed both hands around hers, and finally she could see his face. He looked worn, of course he did, and even in the faint light she could see he had been crying. There was dirt on his face, or maybe he had a split lip, and his fingers were cold, but there was a smile on his face. It looked a little forced, but it was there, and that was all that mattered to her.

“I thank you, Roslin, but you need not have done that for me. Your family still needs me, they won’t let me starve.” For a moment, his smile, looked a little more genuine, and he placed the bread and cheese on the window sill. “Though some _fresh_ bread certainly is most welcome.”

His kindness tore at her heart, and it made her cry all over again. “I am so sorry, my lord, I _am,_ I…” she sobbed, clutching the rusty bars to keep herself on her feet.

“You could not have prevented it.” His voice was soft, gentle, but he didn’t look at her.

Roslin blinked away the tears and stared at him in utter surprise. _He could not mean that…_

“Does… do you mean you…” She felt silly even asking. “Do you mean you _forgive_ me, Mylord?”

“You’re not at fault,” he answered slowly, still avoiding her eyes. “They gave you no choice. I was wrong to blame you.”

“Oh no, you weren’t, I _knew,_ I could have warned-“

“They would have killed you as well, then.” He grimaced. “It was the perfect trap.”

Her throat was tight. She had not expected him to be this brave, and it hurt even more now to see him in that dreadful cell. “Do you know what is to happen with me?” he asked tentatively, and she thought he looked as if he was scared of her answer.

Roslin clutched the bars even firmer. “My father hopes I’ll… I’ll… he wants me to… he hopes I am with child.” She blushed and fervently hoped he would not see, but given the faint smile twitching around his lips for a moment, he _had_ seen.

“An heir to Riverrun,” he said in a cold voice, nodding. “Of course.” He paused for a moment, licked his dry lips, then asked slowly: “…well, are you?”

Her cheeks were burning. “It… it is too early to tell. My father, he will… he will want to make sure.”

“Yes, that he will,” he scoffed and a cynical smile spread on his lips. She could see now that it was not dirt on them but dried blood. Instinctively, she reached out, then drew her hand back.

“They beat you, my lord,” she whispered.

“The least of my concerns,” he gave back with a shrug. “And please, it’s _Edmure._ Like as not, you’ll be the only one ever calling me by my name again, now they’re all-“ His voice broke and he cast his eyes down.

After a moment of hesitation, Roslin slowly extended her hand once more and gripped his shoulder, searching for words. She found none.

“You’ll soil your fingers, Mylady,” he muttered, eyes still on the ground, but didn’t try to shrug her hand off.

“Really, that’s all the romance I can stomach, girl,” came a gruff voice from behind her, making her flinch. “I’ve had enough of standing around in this bloody draft. Come.”

She threw a look over her shoulder and felt her cheeks flush even more.

“I’ll come back,” she promised softly.

“Go,” he muttered and forced another wobbly smile on his lips. When she pulled back, he caught her hand in his and pressed his lips to her fingers for a moment, then let go almost hastily. “I am glad you came.”

“You are?” she asked disbelievingly.

A hand closed firmly around her upper arm. “Come _on,_ girl,” Black Walder spat and dragged her backwards. “Your father won’t like to hear you and your precious load stood around here in the cold all this time.”

She glanced over her shoulder as Black Walder walked her back, and saw Lord Edmure Tully standing by the window, watching them go.

 


End file.
